Winter Garden
by xen0n
Summary: It's the 73rd Hunger Games and two tributes from District 3 – Coil Farraday and his friend Ampere, a promising engineer, both wholly unsuited to a fight to the death – are about to be plunged into the snow-swept arena, forced to battle not only their fellow tributes but the freezing conditions, along with the whims of the game maker.
1. The Reaping (Updated)

_Chapter 1: The Reaping_

I pushed my dark hair, greasy and matted from lack of care, out of my eyes and glared halfheartedly at the image reflected back at my by the bathroom mirror. Despite how any sane person feels about the Games, we still have to treat them as if we consider them a sacred occasion, which I'm guessing constitutes a good reason to have a haircut. It wouldn't do to be sent off to my death while looking dishevelled. Come to think of that, I don't think Beetee, our most famous Victor, dressed up when he was sent away to die, only to return against the odds. Maybe I'll skip the haircut.

Splashing my face with water I attempt to rouse myself from thoughts of the upcoming Reaping. I'm eighteen, I've dodged the proverbial bullet each year since I turned twelve. One more hurdle to clear and I'm home free, or as free as any citizen of a district can hope to be. No point worrying about it now, I tell myself: in two days time I'll know one way or the other and _then_ I may have something to worry about.

Making my way back to the workshop, I sat down at the workbench where I'd left a half-repaired display screen sitting in pieces. I've spent the last few months doing similar jobs after transferring from the factory I entered upon completing school. There are plenty of downsides to this new job but it's still head and shoulders above life in a factory. The accelerated learning programs in place in the district mean that most will finish with their general education between the ages of fifteen and sixteen and subsequently move into employment and further training in the specialized area in which they show the most promise. Those who don't show any promise in particular tend to move into more menial roles in the various factories. I had tried to move straight into a programming role but apparently my aptitude tests weren't up to scratch. It was a lofty goal, I guess, but it's hard not to aim for one of the few 'clean' jobs available.

My section manager, Mr. Gladstone, looked up with annoyance at what he apparently considered my prolonged absence. Just as I was preparing defenses for the incoming criticisms, he satisfied himself by shaking his head and returning to his screen. I didn't yet know him well enough to be relieved or concerned at this outcome – it could be that he had a 'volcano'-type personality and was just building up to an explosion. Time would tell, I thought to myself.

Still looking at his screen, Gladstone finally broke the silence. "Always remember that I'm watching you, Farraday. Don't expect any special treatment around here. I don't care who you know."

Not quite following what he meant, I nodded, hoping I appeared suitably chastened. I'd never been quite sure what I'd done to make an enemy of the man, but he was certainly doing a good job of bearing a grudge. He'd occasionally made similar mentions to my knowing someone but the only person I was really close to was my friend Ampere who I couldn't imagine showing up on Gladstone's radar. She was regarded as a very promising engineer, sure enough, but that didn't seem a likely reason for him to know her, much less resent people she'd befriended.

After another two hours of work my shift mercifully came to an end and I left to make my way to my small quarters in the boarding house for workers without families. There would be just enough time to eat and grab a few hours sleep before the mandatory strength and conditioning required for all potential tributes. Despite the more technical leanings of many jobs in the district, the new Mayor hadn't allowed the citizens to neglect their physical sides – whether out of care for the potential Tributes or out of concern for the district's (or his own) reputation, I could never tell. The upside was that our district never appeared as weak as expected during the games – but was still generally not anything close to a match for the career districts, or even the agricultural districts with their naturally strong builds.

The somber, gray buildings lined the streets of the district in a uniform fashion, making for some bleak scenery. Factories and warehouses lined paths arranged in a simple grid, with the occasional research center providing a modicum of variation. During shift change at the factories these paths would be packed with workers marching to or from their places of work but my new schedule fortunately had me starting and ending my shift outside those busy times. I only walked past two people during my commute this afternoon; neither of whom even bothered to lift their heads while trudging along.

Reaching my housing block, I swung past the communal kitchen and picked up a container of the least-unappetizing food available (mixed beans and grains; nourishing, but not exactly a treat for the taste buds) and took it back to my room to heat briefly on the small oil stove. While waiting, I walked across the hallway and knocked on the door belonging to my neighbor, Ampere. There was no response, which meant she was either sleeping or, more likely, she still at her lab. Unlike me, Ampere had aced her aptitude tests and was accelerated straight into her preferred position at a research and development lab. I think the prevailing consensus was that she was going to go on to do great things, provided that she wasn't killed for the Capitol's amusement first, of course.

Stepping back into my room, I found my basic dinner was warm and waiting for me and, after scooping it onto a plate, I tackled it without enthusiasm while absently flicking through a technical manual. They made for a good combination, my dinner and the manual – both useful in their own way but as dull as ditch water. They probably had a similar taste as well. The meal finished, I sighed and tried to find the motivation to move onto another activity. Failing to do so, I pushed my plate aside and, still clutching the manual, flopped onto the bed. I tried to continue reading but found my eyes instead wandering around the tiny room. It was sparingly furnished and cramped but was, I'd been told in hushed voices by some those in higher positions, a considerable step up from many of the other districts. I suppose the Capitol is wedded to its fancy toys and amusements too much to completely stomp all over those of us who design and build them.

Groaning, I tried to tell myself to stand up and get changed before sleep took me but my heavy eyelids were winning the battle. Fortunately, there was no need to set an alarm as the district's siren would signal the start of the work day, beginning with a call to morning exercise. Apparently I drifted off to sleep while thinking because the next thing I knew was that my door had been banged open and my heretofore absent neighbor Ampere was standing at the end of the bed, staring at me with a neutral expression on her face. This wasn't anything new for her – it was quite rare for her to give away her emotions or thoughts easily. I sighed in mild annoyance at being woken in the middle of the night and raised an eyebrow by way of asking what she wanted. In her usual, cryptic way she addressed me, _"_Coil._ Nervos belli, panem infinitam," _and turned and walked out of the room.

Sitting up in bed, I furrowed my brow as my sleep-addled mind tried to make sense of what she'd announced. I didn't think it sounded quite right but it meant something about bread being required for war, I think – She may well have twisted a common saying to fit the situation. At any rate, it probably meant she was about to eat dinner. The fact that what she'd said had something of a double meaning with our country of Panem sending children off to fight in a pointless, glamorized and televised war was exactly the sort of thing that would appeal to her sense of humor. Intelligent people enjoy plays on words, or so the stereotype goes and the very intelligent apparently like to make puns in other languages, presumably just because they can.

Fully awake now, I trudged across the hallway and through Ampere's open door and sat on the end of her bed while she warmed up some food for herself, strumming her fingers on the table in a complex pattern. It was one of her quirks that she liked to have company at meal times. I'd never managed to find out the reason, but I assumed it had something to do with missing out on family dinners while growing up as an orphan. I'd grown up in the same situation but the same effect had failed to manifest itself in my attitudes towards meals. At any rate, I didn't mind indulging her in this particular eccentricity, although it would make things considerably more bearable if she ate meals at a more reasonable hour.

As Ampere finished preparing her dinner, she turned and switched her attention to me. Without any pause for small talk, she began filling me in on her day's work at the lab as she ate. I have to be honest and admit that a lot of what she does passes straight over my head, to the point that I was reduced to politely nodding as she spoke. Perhaps my eyes betrayed my lack of comprehension so she switched to talking in more general terms.

"We've been working on a new way of transmitting streaming video to portable displays. The Gamemakers are quite keen for it to be up-and-running before the next games, to give them more exposure. Realistically, I think we're quite a ways off from a completed product ready for mass production though. It's times like these I'm glad to not yet be in a position to lead a project – being the one responsible for saying 'no' to the Capitol isn't something to which I necessarily aspire."

I nodded, knowing full well the meaning behind her words. People in charge of projects that didn't lead to satisfactory outcomes tended to disappear with alarming regularity. From memory, the term the Capitol liked to use was 're-allocated'.

"So, they'll be like Holos?" I asked, trying to display at least a modicum of knowledge in the subject at hand.

"Similar to the Holos used by the peacekeepers, but mass produced so everyone in the Capitol potentially has access to one."

As if the pampered citizenry of the Capitol didn't have enough toys to play with, I thought to myself. A sensible district citizen quickly becomes accustomed to keeping their criticisms to themselves.

Pushing her empty plate away from her, Ampere moved towards her bed, which I decided was as good a time as any to return to my room to do the same. She nodded at me as I left, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Yawning widely, I walked the few paces necessary to reach my bed and crawled under the covers in the hope of finding some sort of rest before it was time to get up. As is typical for me, I failed to promptly fall back to sleep and spent at least the next half-hour tossing and turning before sleep finally took me.

The district siren sounded to signal thirty minutes until the morning exercises began and I begrudgingly swung my body out of bed, eyes still heavy with sleep. One more day until the Reaping. I shook my head, irritated that my first clear thought of the day was related to the Games. Telling myself to think positively, I awkwardly sorted through the stack of clothes, searching for the designated training wear, managing to make a complete mess of the previously neatly sorted (well, relatively neat) pile. Grumbling inwardly, I changed into the long pants and sweater combination before beginning the walk to the training grounds. I didn't bother banging on Ampere's door as I passed – she seemed to be exempt from the morning activities. At any rate, she never showed up for them.

By the time I'd managed to make my way to the grounds I was just about ready to turn around and head back. I'm sure a twenty minute walk shouldn't have that sort of effect on a healthy person my age – maybe I should be taking these workouts more seriously. I also considered that it could just be a mental thing, my subconscious telling me that I was tired. I'm not sure which option I preferred. Once I was in the Games and running for my life, I guess I'll find out. Wait, I was supposed to be thinking more positively. Not off to a good start today.

The leader of the training session was a tall man in his forties named Lug and he was a morning person. A morning person who was committed to finding and torturing all those who were _not_ morning people. I had the feeling lately that I was becoming one of his favorite targets. Perhaps that was just part of a minor persecution complex. Although given that he interrupted my meditation on the subject with a whack to the back of the head, perhaps not.

Two other boys around my age couldn't help smirking at the sight and both received a similar sharp smack for their trouble. Rubbing their heads and grimacing, the both gave my dirty looks and turned away. I think I had some classes with them in school, possibly. It didn't matter overmuch, if they felt like behaving like that ignoring them was an easy option. People like that will be stacking boxes and doing grunt work on assembly lines for their entire lives.

This wasn't a career district – or even close – so the training was more along the lines of general endurance and strength rather than the reputed Spartan-esque training regimes in Districts 1 and 2. Still, it had to be a step up from doing nothing at all. It was tempting to just go through the motions but the overbearing presence of Lug made that seem a poor option, so I genuinely exerted myself in an attempt to avoid any unwanted attention. My efforts seemed to be in vain, however, as, at the end of the session, Lug still gave me a look that pretty much said "that's all you've got?" and turned away.

Sweating, I walked back to the showering area at the dorms at a considerably slower pace than I'd moved at earlier. I still needed to give myself a bit of a push for fear of running out of time and being late – Mr Gladstone didn't need any further reasons to put a black mark against my name. Dragging my feet, in addition to slowing my progress, also led me to stumble over an uneven bit of pavement, which lead in turn to a rather ungraceful fall to the ground. Adopting the traditional look of bewilderment crossed with annoyance directed at the offending piece of pavement, I scrambled to my feet and dusted myself off. Fortunately, no-one seemed to have witnesses the spectacle and I was left to continue my trip in peace. Falling over things while lost in thought was another habit that would be worth growing out of – not that I could blame any significant thought for this latest stumble.

I arrived last at the shower block, a bad sign if I was to arrive at work on time, so I had the briefest of showers before toweling off and dressing in the bland gray uniforms afforded to all staff in my position. It was fitting in a way, having all the workers dressed in garments almost perfectly designed to blend into the drab, concrete dominated background of our district. With that cheery thought fresh in my mind, I set out once again, this time for the dreary hours of base-level technical work that lay ahead of me at my workbench, knowing that night would have fallen by the time my shift was over.

Darkness had indeed fallen as I closed the door behind me and set out on my way home. There was a slight chill to the air so I thrust my hands deep into my pockets in an effort to keep them warm. It was nice to be done for the day but, having been released from the tedium of work, I was once again free to dwell on the result of tomorrow's reaping. I was trying to keep my fears under control but it was impossible to avoid feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach as the thoughts worked their way through my mind.

I met up with Ampere as I arrived back at our building so we headed for the kitchen area together, walking wordlessly. Once we'd sat down at one of the long dining tables with our plates, she finally broke the silence.

"You're working under Carl Gladstone, aren't you?"

I nodded while poking at my dinner.

"How would you say you were getting along?"

"Uh, I'd have to say we don't. Get along, that is. I mean, I still hardly know him – he barely speaks to me. I wouldn't say I get a warm and fuzzy vibe from him though."

"Watch out for him – He actually used to be quite a number of rungs higher on the ladder. One of his assignments didn't work out to the satisfaction of the powers-that-be and, well, I suppose you would have to consider him one of the lucky ones for he was merely demoted. He doesn't, though – and I'm afraid it's made him quite bitter."

"He's not been that terrible lately," I came to Gladstone's defense, surprising myself greatly. "He comes across as more the passive-aggressive type I guess. There hasn't been anything direct, anyway."

Ampere shook her head, causing her brown ponytail to swing from side to side. "Don't let that lull you into a false sense of security – keep your guard up, he still has connections and knows how things work behind the scenes. Anyone he takes a dislike to could wind up having cause to regret it."

"Like what, a few extra entries in the reaping ball?" I suggested, trying to give a small smile for what I hoped was a joke.

"Exactly like that, from what I can gather." She nodded, without any kind of smile on her face in response.

This wasn't exactly what I needed to hear a few days out from the reaping. It was largely too late to change Gladstone's impression of me now anyway, I reasoned. I don't think he's the sort of man to change his way of thinking in such a short period of time, even if I could somehow think of a way to leave a favorable impression on him. My head filled with such thoughts, I made my way back to my room, parting ways with Ampere outside her door.

The next day and night passed without event, although during quiet moments I couldn't prevent my mind from dwelling on the Reaping and its possible outcomes. I tried to reassure myself, to logically consider that the odds of my being chosen were still relatively small and, at any rate, that all the worrying in the world wouldn't change those odds but I never quite managed to calm myself down.

Finally, it was the morning of the Reaping. I made my way to the town square and joined the already assembled throng of adolescents patiently lining up to hear their fate. Apart from the unnatural lack of the usual buzz of conversation and the slight, pervading smell of nervous sweat, it could have been mistaken for a factory fire drill. Speaking of factories, I spotted a number of former co-workers from my short stint and exchanged curt nods. Nobody really felt like forcing a conversation on the day of the Reaping. Lug turned his head slightly and gave me a foul look and, just for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine his name being called out.

I glanced at the female section to my right in an effort to spot Ampere but couldn't find her in the crowd. I couldn't help worrying a little – she'd never enjoyed being in large gatherings. The orderly nature of the Reaping might make things a little easier for her to bear, I considered. This thought segued into my mockingly congratulating myself for finding a silver lining in something so dark as Reaping Day – all that effort at positive thinking was finally paying dividends.

Abruptly the waiting was over and the dignitaries (if I may use so grand a word) had assembled on the stage. The Mayor's introduction was first and he stood and wobbled his way ungracefully to the microphone. He was almost the complete personification of privileged office – well fed, contemptuous of those below him and utterly enamored of himself. In a low drone, he repeated the words he quoted every year, about the Treaty of Treason and how the districts owed fealty to the Capitol and how the games would remind us to never repeat the Dark Days. As he spoke, his many chins rippled and his walrus moustache twitched in rhythm with his words, causing a few around me to snicker behind their hands.

As his speech reached its conclusion, our district's escort, Laevicula Winter, smiled broadly at the assembled mass of people and moved towards the microphone. Like many from the Capitol, she wasn't exactly the last word in subtlety – a garish rave green mess of spikes dominated her head and her skin had been dyed an odd, almost sandy yellow. A pair of large, hooped earrings dangled precariously from her ears and she'd chosen a complicated, multi-layered, cyan dress. Compared to the people around her clad in somber colors, she stood out like a distress beacon.

Grasping the microphone, Laevicula stretched her smile even wider before addressing the audience.

"Hello, my children," she cooed, "And welcome to the beginning of the seventy-third Hunger Games. Shortly I'll be selected the names of this year's boy and girl tributes who will then be whisked away to the Capitol for all the glitz and glamor that makes the Games so magical."

The fact that she could say such things with a straight face was frankly staggering. I briefly wondered whether it could be put down to some sort of extreme coping mechanism or possibly a complete lack of empathy. Meanwhile, her spiel continued apace.

"And I just know these will be the most exciting games ever and, let me say right now, I have a very good feeling about this year. It could be a magical time for this district. Now, if you'll turn your attention to the bowls of names, I'll draw the names of the two lucky tributes. And," She paused here for effect, "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Without further talk, she plunged her hand into the glass ball containing the names of the potential girl tributes and fished around, smiling inanely all the while. With an unnecessary flourish, she pulled out a piece of paper and made a great show of smoothing it out before finally deigning to read out the name. "Ampere Lux"

My jaw dropped and my head whipped around – this time I had no issues finding Ampere in the crowd, as the surrounding girls had pulled back in a circle, leaving her isolated. Her name was one I'd never expected to hear, in the back of my mind I think I'd always expected her obvious talent and potential would lead to her name somehow being omitted from the draw. Caught mid the assembled potential tributes there was no way for me to reach her to offer any semblance of comfort and I couldn't summon the voice to call out to her, so I just stood helpless as she looked towards the stage at the woman who'd delivered her a virtual death sentence.

True to form, she wasn't outwardly overcome with emotion but it still took a minute before she started the slow walk up to the stage, those surrounding her parting in silence to let her pass, averting their eyes as they did so. As she ascended the steps, Laevicula turned the full radiant force of her smile upon poor Ampere who, needless to say, remained impassive and met her gaze. Not one to be perturbed, our overly enthusiastic Escort moved smoothly on.

"And now for the boys!" Again she made a great show of fishing around in the ball of names before triumphantly raising a slip into the air: "Coil Farraday"

I was still so focused on Ampere that it took a second or two for the fact that my name had been called to sink in, but when it did my mind went blank, my throat instantly dried and my legs collapsed beneath me, leaving me to crumple to the ground. Much like the scene in the girls' section minutes earlier, a silent circle of spectators had formed, their faces contorting as they attempted not to show their relief at having avoided being chosen.

Regaining some semblance of strength in my legs, I managed to jerk upright and stumble towards the stage, endeavoring to at least keep a straight face and hide the waves of fear running through me, threatening to cripple me. At last I mounted the stage and stood next to Ampere, whose face was now wearing a look of curiosity, having apparently recovered a little from the initial shock of being drawn. With the tributes chosen, the Mayor resumed the microphone to perform the requisite reading of the Treaty of Treason in a monotone voice. I'd heard it every reaping day of my life but today, standing next to the man reading it, not a single word sank in.

The numb feeling continued as we were lead by peacekeepers to the holding area where we would say our last goodbyes. With neither of us having families, this would be a much shorter process than normal. It was all a blur to me but the faces that came and went at least registered in my mind. Oddly enough, I was sure I briefly spotted Mr. Gladstone's face outside at one point and, although it could have been just my imagination, I felt sure that it had been wearing a self-satisfied smirk.

Wasting little time, the peacekeepers soon arrived to hustle us on board the waiting train. There was no point struggling, so we meekly marched across the platform and into the luxurious set of carriages that would bear us to the Capitol. My feet sank into the thick carpet as I entered – our district was furnished in to utilitarian a way to allow for carpeting – and I trailed my hand along the wood panelled interior, quite enjoying the look and feel of it, the novelty briefly distracting me from why I was actually on the train.

We were ushered into a richly decorated common room, with a beautifully finished wooden table standing in the center and comfortable looking sofas lining the walls. At the heads of the table sat Beetee and Wiress, our districts champions and therefore mentors to its tributes. As we entered the room they both stood and nodded a greeting to us, gesturing to the vacant chairs at the side of the table.

"Welcome," began Beetee as soon as we'd sat down and been offered refreshment, "I'm very sorry we have to meet under these circumstances but I hope we can be of use to you and hopefully impart some knowledge and skills that may help prolong your survival in the arena."

I nodded, unsure if I needed to make any sort of formal reply. Ampere, for her part, stared impassively at Beetee while he spoke then dropped her gaze to the table the moment he had finished. Perhaps she wasn't quite over the initial shock yet or, maybe more likely, she was lost in thought.

Beetee continued, "I imagine this has all been something of a shock to you both, so I won't get bogged down with details until we reach the Capitol and are settled into our quarters. For the time being, I hope you can both get some decent rest and eat well. It's not something our district typically excels at, but it's important to make a good first impression upon arrival. If either of you is particularly talented at forcing cheerful smiles, please let me know."

Ampere and I exchange bewildered expressions and shook our heads. Beetee cleared his throat before following on.

"Nor I, but we'll see what we can do to present you two in the best possible light."

At that the first briefing was over and we settled down to the most luxuriant dinner I'd ever had the pleasure to eat. I couldn't name most of the dishes but there really was something for every palette – sweet, savory, spicy and every combination thereof. For a short while at least, I was able to forget the reason I was in this situation and just focused on enjoying the moment.

At the conclusion of the meal we were immediately ushered off to bed to get whatever rest we could before the train arrived in the Capitol and we became unwilling celebrities.


	2. Entering the Capitol

_Chapter 2: Entering the Capitol_

As the train pulled into the station we were pushed towards the windows and reminded to wave as if our lives depended on it – as they well may. Coming from an unfancied district was already a significant handicap when it came to sponsorship so we needed to find some way of convincing reach citizens of the Capitol to adopt us, so to speak. Some successful tributes of games past had managed to work gimmicks or quirks into their entrances and interviews, whatever made you stand out from the next tribute. Careers generally didn't need to bother with that sort of thing – they simply stood there and looked impressive and/or pretty, as the situation warranted.

Guards were waiting to escort us as the train came to a halt and we disembarked onto a gleaming platform. Our first stop would be the remake center, where our stylists would turn us into fitting attractions for the assembled crowd during the traditional chariot ride through the City Circle. I was dimly aware of Laevicula shouting into my ear to enjoy the moment but the haste with which we moved, plus my unfamiliarity with the surroundings, meant the gathered throng became nothing more than a blur of people and a cacophony of sound.

Reaching our destination, Ampere and I were immediately herded into separate rooms where we to be set upon by a horde of stylists with their associated paraphernalia. The head stylist was a tall man with tanned skin and a closely cropped beard. His mouth was set in a straight line that suggested smiling was something he did seldom, if at all. His fellow stylists were two woman who were, appearance-wise at least, polar opposites. The first seemed to have indulged in every modification and 'beauty' treatment available to citizens of the Capitol, with countless tattoos, neon pink skins and an ornate hairstyle that somewhat resembled a cross between a beehive and some sort of fruiting tree. Her associate, by contrast, was the closest to a natural looking person I'd seen since arriving in the Capitol. At first glance, I couldn't modifications or colorings to skin or hair.

Without speaking a word, the first thing they did was strip me naked while casting critical eyes over what they saw, ignoring my shock which quickly gave way to utter embarrassment. Their appraisal apparently complete, the man finally deigned to speak and introduced himself.

"I am Pluto, your stylist. These are your prep team, Dianna and Cleo. We're responsible for making you at least look the part for the chariot ride, your interview and entrance to the arena."

With that, Pluto clapped his hands and the three stylists set upon me. I'm not sure if it was due to their senior stylist's presence or if they simply shared his lack of words but the three worked away in almost complete silence, save the occasional order to turn this way or the other. Eventually I grew so weary of lying there in silence that I asked Dianna – the 'normal' looking member of my prep team – what was next on the list.

"The next step is to take care of the problem of unwanted facial hair growth while you're in the arena. Please lie back and keep your head perfectly still." As the machine moved towards my face I couldn't help asking how it worked.

"It kills the hair follicle somehow," She shrugged disinterestedly, continuing with her work. I didn't bother asking if it was only temporary – I was afraid I already knew the answer.

After skin and hair had been prepared to Pluto's satisfaction, the outfit I was to wear for the chariot ride was wheeled out. True to recent tradition, it was a bit of a mess – it was essentially a black body stocking with light bulbs adorning the joints and prints resembling circuit boards on the front and back. A visor was also included featuring multicolored flashing lights in a pattern around the outside. My spirits sank a little upon seeing it – if sponsors weren't interested in us before, this outfit certainly would do nothing to change their minds.

Ignoring the expression on my face, Dianna and Cleo squeezed me into the unflattering costume and stood me in front of Pluto who, after pausing a moment in though, gave it the thumbs up and turned away, apparently satisfied. Dianna grabbed my arm and hauled me towards the elevator, punching the button for the bottom level as we entered. After all the prodding and poking and dressing it was almost a relief to finally be boarding the chariot for our grand entrance, even though it would mean being paraded in front of thousands of people who were looking forward to seeing us fight to the death.

As the districts left in numerical order, we didn't have as long to wait as some but we were in the unfortunate position of being sandwiched between two career districts, which probably led so some unfavorable comparisons. After hearing the loud cheers for Districts 1 and 2, we rolled out onto the parade route. I tried desperately to look intelligent, caring and all the other qualities that Beetee had suggested but I had a terrible feeling all I was conveying was terror. Ampere, for her part, certainly managed to look intelligent but couldn't quite bring herself to smile or gesture to the crowd, settling for a hand raised in solemn salute.

I couldn't help but notice that we were failing to garner as much attention as the tributes before us. I began musing that no-one expects much from a district specializing in electronics but then had to stop and remind myself that perennial co-favorites District 1 are known for producing jewelery, so maybe a district's production isn't first and foremost in people's minds. My brief introspection was interrupted by a loud roar behind us, signalling the arrival of the District 4's tributes, the last pair of careers.

Finally, all the districts had arrived in the City Circle as the windows of the luxury houses surrounding it practically bulged with the assembled well-to-do. On the balcony above us, President Snow gives the official welcome to the games. After the applause from the crowd has died down, the national anthem plays to a now respectfully silent crowd and, after one final lap of the circle, we finally make our way to the training center, away from the crowd-lined streets.

The entrance to the training center felt nearly as packed with people as the streets outside, with prep teams jostling for position and either congratulating or castigating their tributes. Mercifully, Ampere and I our quickly whisked towards the elevators by Pluto and Ampere's stylist, whose name I still hadn't heard, both of whom perhaps felt just as uncomfortable in the sea of people as I did.

Our district was given the entirety of the third floor, with numerous bedrooms, a large common area and a separate dining room with an enormous table. It was hard not to be caught up by the sheer opulence of it all and, for a moment at least, I quite forgot why I was here and just wandered around in a daze taking everything in. The moment couldn't last, of course, and I found myself jerked back to reality as we sat down at the large dining table with Beetee and Wiress, our mentors, and Laevicula, who was looking decidedly anxious – perhaps our entrance on chariot hadn't resonated with the crowd in the way she'd hoped.

Beetee stared off into the middle distance while fidgeting with his glasses, apparently a habit of his. I was growing accustomed to him occasionally losing himself in thought – it certainly wasn't an uncommon trait amongst the sharper minds of the district. It did sometimes give the impression that they were occupying a different reality from the rest of us but then maybe that wasn't too far from the truth. He shrugged apologetically as he returned to the here and now and addressed us.

"Fighting hand-to-hand isn't exactly mine or Wiress' field of expertise, so you'll need to focus doubly hard on what the instructors in the training room tell you. What I can help you with is finding any technological advantage possible within the arena itself. Ideally we'll use the Capitol's hardware against them and the other tributes. We're obviously in the dark regarding the layout and theme of this year's arena, so we'll just have to look at things in general and hope that you can find a way of applying it in a useful way once you're inside."

Ampere had been nodding with a determined expression on her face the whole time Beetee had been speaking – this was something she'd be very good at and perhaps even enjoy on some level. The spark that had been missing from her eyes during talks about the training now returned as she came into her element. Meanwhile, Beetee continued his address.

"What we want to look for are ways of utilizing and explosive or other security devices that will be in the arena. There are bombs around the launch pads but that may be too high risk – they're incredibly sensitive when armed. They game maker will be tracking you constantly as well, it would be nice if we could work around that somehow. Removing the tracking device would be a painful exercise but it may be possible to short it out or otherwise render it incapable of sending data. Too many tributes die either directly or indirectly as a result of game maker intervention after a day has been judged 'too boring' for the viewers."

I ran the idea of digging the tracking chip out of my arm and attaching it to a squirrel or some-such but just the idea made me wince. I may feel differently about the idea after a couple days running for my life though. Shorting it out seemed fairly plausible, if we could find a power source in the arena. Presumably there was cabling run all over the place to support the vast infrastructure needed to run and televise the games but it would be well hidden.

The next course arrived and, as the Avox servants exited the room, I pondered that, in a way, they could be considered to be somewhat lucky – what happened to them is the result of the Capitol thinking creatively. When those in charge aren't in such a creative mood, they tend to opt for the simpler option of torturing people to death.

After dinner we sat down in the common room to watch the late broadcast of the opening ceremony. Unfortunately, the Capitol is currently in such a state of paranoia that the hour long ceremony easily stretches to two with the addition of a multitude of propaganda inserts and edited highlights from earlier games. It's not long before I'm desperately wishing for control of the video feed in order to skip over the redundant parts. Laevicula applauds as the camera focuses on us but I'm not sure her heart is entirely in it.

With Beetee's earlier words running through our heads, we said our respective good nights and retired to our rooms for the night. Unsurprisingly after the day we'd had, sleep did not come easily to me. I couldn't help but run the various events and conversations of the day through my mind and then lay mulling over what on earth I was going to do when thrown into the arena.


End file.
